


Halfway Down

by funeralfiona



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralfiona/pseuds/funeralfiona
Summary: A series of short writings centered around my personal Male Sole Survivor. For creative reasons and to give the reader more freedom I have decided to keep his name and description to a minimum. It begins with him as an established Brotherhood Sentinel given the task of dealing with rebellious Squires.I apologize for mistakes. I am not very good at editing.





	1. Second-in-Command

The Vertibird lurched as it docked into place, the supports hissing under the strain as it came to rest securely at the Prydwen’s underbelly. It’s passenger swayed with the landing turbulence, gave his pilot an appreciative squeeze of the shoulder, and departed with a lazy drop.  
“Ad victoriam, Sentinel.”  
He acknowledged the sudden Initiate’s salute with his own and a polite smile. The young solider looked suddenly unnerved and the Sentinel wondered just how sane he looked. Still, the Initiate kept eye contact and his salute professional.  
He still wasn’t entirely used to it. The work load felt the same whether it was heavy or light, but the spontaneous shows of respect and authority were really beyond him. The Initiate moved on to assist the fly-worn pilot and off-load the retrieved weaponry that highlighted a successful mission. After the pitch black of the wild wasteland the lights of the flight deck stung at his eyes and made him squint. His hands absently found his hair as he traveled up the deck. He cringed and splayed his palm before his eyes. Whatever had been in his hair was now on his fingers. Nasty, but it was 0200, he’d sleep with it.  
Another call came from up the walkway.  
“Welcome back, Sentinel.”  
Captain Kell’s purposeful steps clamored and echoed across the flight deck as he head forward to meet his fellow officer.  
The Sentinel quickly wiped his hands across the wool of his coat-a souvenir from Old Longfellow-and saluted the approaching officer.  
“Ad Victoriam, sir.”  
Mirroring the gesture the Captain looked serious, more intense than was usual for his already stoic visage. “I already got word of your success. These weapons will be of great use to the Brotherhood.”

The Sentinel smiled professionally again and lowered his arm. “Thank you, sir. Better we have these weapons than raiders or roaming synths.”

Kell’s nodded his agreement and folded his arms across his back. “I am sorry to cut the celebration short and stop you from getting rest but we have an issue that needs immediate attention.” His chin ducked low and the brim of his cap shadowed his eyes.

The Sentinel touched his glasses in preparedness, his tired eyes wide and eager. “Of course, I am ready for anything.”

“I would attend to this myself,” The officer continued.“...but with so many patrols and checkpoints currently going hot I am unable to leave Command for too long.” He paused to let the stillness and clanging of the ship create emphasis. “The squires refuse to go to bed. Can you tend to this matter?” He smirk slipped out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes shined with humor.

Slowly the joke reached him and the Sentinel grinned as the tension deflated in his chest. The humor felt warm within him and long over due. He allowed himself a deep chuckle and contained the desperate hysteria that threatened to bubble over and send him straight to Cade’s medical scrutiny. He pushed his glasses up unnecessarily and breathed deep for composure, eying the ground.

“Yes, yes. I will handle them.”

Relaxing his arms and shoulders Kells finally gave a small smile. “I have no doubt in your abilities. Thank you, Sentinel. Dismissed.”

Giving the Captain one last big smile the Sentinel traveled on into the cabin, up the ladder where he stopped to observe the Elder’s ajar door and the small patter of computer keys . Continuing, he casually strolled through the Mess area manned by a lone solider dutifully stirring a bubbling pot and on to the quiet cavities of the ship. Beneath was hushed with sleeping crew.  
The working decks were dimmer and less aggressive on the eyes. Small Intimate groups of Initiates and Knights huddled in various corners, some laughing with cards on the table, some speaking in low tones over bottles. The corner of Squires was just as he imaged it. They giggled over irradiated board games and toys, ducked under beds, had a fort of straw pillows and ammo bags, and showed no signs of exhaustion. No doubt they had been told once, twice, maybe more times to go to bed but it appeared rebellion and disobedience had spread through their ranks like a bad cold. His wife would of adored it.

“Squires, attention!” His voice boomed through the tranquility of early hours, turning all heads and startling the young group out of their fun. They stared up at him dumbfounded, his head high and arms propped authoritatively behind his back. All at once they mustered. Those that shadowed him on missions moved faster and others flopped into place. He let them stand in waiting silence, his eyes running over each and every face.

“Get field ready and report to the command deck in five minutes. Dismissed.” At his turning the Squires relaxed and rushed into field gear, kicking toys and debris in all directions. Rec time returned gradually with a rising whisper of voices as the Sentinel departed to the upper decks. Knights grinned at the rushing Squires, recalling their own punishments and trials through the Brotherhood.

The squires found their commanding officer overlooking the dark and jagged landscape of the Commonwealth on the command deck, a bottle hanging by the neck in his hand. They filed into formation and he did not turn till the foot falls stopped. To address them he tucked his arms behind his back, hiding the alcohol.

“If I am not mistake, lights out for Squires is 2300 and it is now...0232. You are all aware of what is required of you. You have a role that is valuable to the Brotherhood and getting your rest to stay alert at all times is paramount.” He paused again to survey their faces and saw wide eyes blinking rapidly. “Since you clearly do not see the value in rest and have renounced authority for the evening then you will remain here at attention until the sun rises. Beginning now.” With that the Sentinel turned his back on them to face the window. Dropping to the ground he crossed his legs comfortably and let the bottle take its place by his side. The Pip-boy buzzed as he flipped through to the classical channel bubbling with delicate piano ready to sooth the listeners to sleep. Screwing open the bottle he took a swig and hummed in realization mid drink. “Oh....” he half turned, swiping the excess from his mouth. “Anyone that drops out will receive extra punishments. I suggest you don’t lock your knees.” Facing away again he began his long evening of land gazing and drinking. This probably was not what Kells had in mind. Or maybe it was. He could never really find 'the line' to cross it when it came to the Brotherhood. He had yet to find a limit to how far he could push. In his weakest moments he played with the temptation of a complete takeover. For hours the squires stood in three lines with heads high and eyes forward. Periodically the Sentinel checked the reflection for any signs of laziness.  
“Beal, tighten it up.” With a sharp snap and deep breath a freckled girl that had begun to list awkwardly straightened herself

When the first one dropped a rippled of sharp breaths echoed then stalled as they all corrected themselves. He arched his head to observe the fallen child. When he was sure she was not seriously hurt he returned to his bottle. After that they began to go like slow domino, each one hitting the floor in a light thump of clothes and clattering gear. With each child he left face down he took a heavier gulp and let it burn. His stare reached out beyond the Commonwealth and to a place in his soul he didn’t want to go but was necessary to visit. Coddling would do them no good.  
A quarter of the bottle was left by the time the sky lightened, and only six Squires remained standing. Checking the reflection he observed some he expected to see and some he didn’t. Beal had made it, at least. Clearing his numb throat he swallowed thick saliva to make an abrupt announcement.  
“Dismissed.”  
There was a heavy moment of silence as they tried to remember how to move, how to be themselves again, before a whimper broken out then erupted into a full sob. The self mourning spread infectiously and rose like a bomb siren on the wind. His resolution did not crumble as the pitiful stutters of distress rattled his drooping spine. The bottle, however, went untouched as he rode them out till reinforcements came.

“Squires, dismissed! Wake the others and return to your bunks!”

He switched off the radio. The voice was soft but rough around the edges, curt with authority but fair in tone. The Sentinel didn’t need to turn or eye the windows reflections to know who it was. His chest flushed with familiarity. It made him feel lighter and suddenly very stupid. Small boots tapped and high voices murmured in a hush. His ears rang, straining to listen as they moved carefully back up the decks feeling sorry for themselves. When all was quiet once again a single set of distinct boots clicked across the command deck, each step even and in time with the last. In his minds eye the Sentinel could see every wrinkle of leather and frayed thread, the rotting soles beneath. The boots stopped just beyond his left peripheral in observant (or perhaps judging) pause. Ignoring the weight of eyes only made breathing hard and he exhaled with finite dread as the bottle was lifted up and away. The glass twinkled as it’s contents was examined and surveyed with a firm shake. There was a delicate cascading slosh followed by a loud swallow before the boots traveled away to bring the bottle to rest on a small table. The boots tarried there a moment then finally he spoke.

“I don’t know what the Squires did to deserve your drill...” The boots groaned with movement. “...but I am sure it was necessary.” For a non-committal statement it had jagged teeth. The Elder wanted an explanation but did not expect one, though it was his right to demand.

“If you receive punishment from the Brotherhood then you did something to deserve it. Simple as that.” The Sentinel had yet to move from his spot and let the rhetoric speak for him. He could feel the electric scrutiny sizzling at his back. The Prydwen groaned casually around them. The ship was beginning to come to life once again as Vertibirds squealed to life and distant voices could be heard from beyond the hatch. Maxson approached with an even voice, choosing to dismiss the topic with totalitarian grace.

“I suppose that isn’t a disagreeable assumption.”

One standing at full height and the other slumped, both men observed in respectful silence as the sky melted into smears of bright pink and orange. The suns bright shine licked across the horizon, contrasting deep shadows at the base of buildings and flashing hot beams of light off jagged glass. The water below sparkled in jubilant celebration at the return of a new day. The Sentinel couldn’t take much more, his head pounded as each twinkle stung at his mind. Squeezing his eyes closed he stood finally with a strained grunt. At standing he found the Elder much closure than he had perceived. The realization, paired with numb legs, caused him to stagger back. Quick to react, the elder took hold of the Sentinels upper arm with a strong grip and pulled him in close to compensate for the lean. The Sentinel let himself be hooked into the intimate space of his superior officer. Never had he’d been close enough to examine the details of his infamous scar or take note of the rounded features beneath the burly facial hair.

Maxson kept his grip solid and his other hand hanging at his side, ready to offer extra support if needed.  
“I thank you for your dedication but you need sleep, Sentinel. Can you make it from here?”

He wavered in Maxson’s steel hold with dumb fascination. The sun had crept through the grim windows to brighten the command deck, washing over the Elder’s face. Under the white light the oil smears, blemishes and dark circles faded into divine obscurity. Sunshine slid into the grooves of his scar, scaring away the shadows that normally took root there.  
“Sentinel?”  
Above all else, his eyes deepened in their rich blue charm, radiating out of his face with celestial aggression. If the fire of archangels could be imagined then they lay within Maxson’s sun-charged gaze. Perhaps they were the true secret to his success. Eyes that could make a person bend backwards, or bend over. Allowing himself to dream, the Sentinel let visions of soft kisses drift around his intoxicated mind.  
“Sentinel.”  
He saw himself closing in to rest his mouth on the soft pillow of Maxson’s lips, sucking at them tenderly to savor the insubordination. It would be brief but he would return again for a second, braver kiss that lingered. The scent of snuffed cigarettes and sweat warming his nose.  
On the third return the lips would part and tongues would twist across teeth as breath became peppered with small, desperate sounds. They’d explore until air ran short and retreated to sharp inhales and the Sentinels hot whisper hovering over their mouths. _Arthur._  
“Sentinel!”  
He was awoke with a gasp and quick exhale, his eyes fluttered through their aroused heaviness. The Elder had roughly shaken him to his senses.  
“You will refer to me as Elder Maxson, Sentinel. Do I make myself clear?”  
The inferior officer gave a sloppy nod but the Elder’s single raised brow did not seem convinced. The strong hand retracted hesitantly to join the other at his back in a professional stance.

“Return to your Quarters, solider. Sleep it off.” The order was curt but his eyes did not look unkind.

The Sentinel’s salute that followed was blatantly incorrect, his hand flat and rising to his temple in a pre-war fashion that knocked his glasses clean off. His hazy judgment left them at the Elder’s feet as he staggered off like a new-born Brahmin.

“Rest well, Sentinel.”

The wish was soft and suspiciously genuine with either pity or alcoholics empathy. The task of navigating the ladder killed any attempts at deciphering the Elder’s intent as the way seemed steeper than he remembered.

Maxson cringed as he heard his second-in-command drop like a dead body to the floor with a load grunt. Concerned voices and two onlookers came up from navigation and were directed to assist the sentinel to his room. Bending at the waist Maxson retrieved the black rimmed glasses with ginger fingers and observed them with interest. They where loose at the screws, missing a lens, and the remaining was severely scratched. Folding the branches inward he neatly tucked the glasses into an inner pocket. His brow knit as he rubbed his fingertips together, finding an unknown residue there. Wiping his hands on his coat he returned to his duties and didn’t think of the Sentinel again for at least six hours.


	2. Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Lancer Captain Kells has no chill and gets really ahead of himself.

Lancer Captain Kells eyes hovered just past Proctor Quinlans’ shoulder in broken focus. His distracted gaze went unnoticed as the Proctor droned on, his own eyes glued to a technical document he was burdened with explaining. The Captain watched the Sentinel take in each hand a tray of food and for a brief moment he was sure the vault dweller would wander towards the quarters of the senior officers. Instead, the younger man wandered into the armor bay with his trays of food and out of sight. The Captain breathed out slowly in relief. He wasn’t entire sure why he felt that way and rarely had the time to muse. If he had to struggle for a reason he supposed it’d be a mixed of jealousy and over protectiveness. Not that either really hit it on the head. Refocusing on Proctor Quinlan and his babble he raced to catch up with him intellectually and succeeded. Dismissing himself politely he proceed back to Command still feeling slightly agitated. His service showed him many things, things that could easily shake loose a man’s soul. Yet THIS is what bothered him. Perhaps it was the abrupt way in which he discovered it and his almost pitiful rejection of the notion. Descending the hatch slowly he recalled the morning.

____

 

Through the commotion of Squires the Elder’s voice broke through and restored order on the upper command deck. Knowing all was well up above Kells continued his current task, waiting for his reports and land schematics to finish printing as he enjoyed the rising sun and entertained thoughts of well deserved sleep. When the materials were ready he gathered them up and ordered the current crew to be ready to receive and brief the next Lancer team. He exited up the stairs with eyes running over a sparse but precise description of land masses and key locations. As he rounded the stairs towards the bay windows-and subsequently his direct-in-command- he halted stiffly just before the hatch. He was genuinely startled, out of his element, and feeling suddenly exposed as he observed awkwardly the Elder and Sentinel in intimate proximity of each other. Halo’d by sunlight the two men had perhaps four inches of space between them as they spoke low and short. Kells honed in specifically on the single hand clutching the Sentinels upper arm in firm consolation. His fellow brothers were so engrossed in each other they didn’t hear Kells slow and tactical retreat to lower command. The shock must of showed in his face and provoked a Lancer to inquire. He waved away their concern.

 

\-----

When returned to Command, paused on the ladder, again he found the Elder engrossed in his observations of the operations below. He wondered at the length and depth of the relationship between the young Elder and Sentinel. It was not something he approved of, nor could he fathom the attraction towards another male. But it was not his bias that tugged at him. It was the conflict of interest. The vault dweller was well deserving of his position in the Brotherhood, but he rose to it very quickly and ahead of soldiers that toiled through years of loyalty. He knew the Elder had grown to trust this man against his own instincts and had made a risky investment in the Brotherhoods future. It played out brilliantly in the end, but to possess the ability to make the Elder act outside his character was frightening thought to the Captain. The repercussions of passion that the Old World loved so much could be read in the books and comics Quinlan so poorly hid from his fellow officers. Jealously, hate, and revenge ran rampant in Old World romantic fantasies like ancient warnings. Kells wouldn't put it passed the Sentinel to use charm to get ahead. He stepped down the ladder feeling slightly ashamed of his paranoia. The Elder turned casually then placed his hands behind himself in an authoritative waiting stance. It did not escape Kells observation the black glasses folded into the Elder's palm.

At attention with his superior he spoke professionally and with intent, the glasses out of sight but nagging at his mind.

_A reason to fraternize later._

They discussed dryly the situation with maps being incomplete and relay being a slow moving venture. It was necessary, but greatly bogged down by the new landscape and recurring hostiles. Recon took days to complete, recovered documentation and scattered Scribe information took longer to decipher. In the wake of the Institutes fall progress had been hindered by general upheavel in the wasteland. Roaming synths paired with the common strife had found renewed bravery with the watchful eye of the boogyman plucked out. With maps more detailed and complete they could more successfully target easy hidden places and landmarks that make for ideal meeting grounds for undesirables. If only they could cover more ground, and quickly. 

The Elder hummed to himself, brow tight with scrutiny, but realization was quick.  

"I believe we are fortunate enough to have someone with us that has traveled the Commonwealth extensively, Captain."

"I know just who you mean, Sir." The Lancer tried to sound supportive but he the overprotective streak returned in full force. He did not want the two left alone.

"Have him come to my quarters when he is awake and have a Scribe bring me the most up-to-date map we have." 

Kells sigh was barely noticeable, he hoped. He was starting to hope for a lot of things. He hoped he was overreacting. He hoped what he saw between them was a trick of the morning light. 

"He is awake now, sir, I just saw him in the Mess."

"Good," The Elder's face didn't betray eagerness or desire. "Have him report to me immediately, that is all." The conversation ended curtly. The Captain saluted as his superior officer departed to the ladder.

He hoped they at least didn't loved each other.


End file.
